


Go for It (Nobody moves, nobody gets hurt)

by Leandra



Series: Nobody moves, nobody gets hurt [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arthur is an artist, Dirty Thoughts, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, M/M, Masturbation, Merlin Is In A Band, Merlin and his right hand, Merlin is a Little Shit, Merlin's pov, Not In Love, Scent Kink, Step-Brothers, Step-siblings, they are soon-to-be-stepbrothers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:07:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28917312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leandra/pseuds/Leandra
Summary: Merlin is definitely not in love with his soon-to-be stepbrother Arthur. In fact, they have trouble being civil to each other. Their animosity doesn’t keep Merlin from misappropriating Arthur’s shirt for a guilt-tripped wank though.Set during Chapter 3 of Nobody moves, Nobody gets hurt, but can be read as a standalone!
Relationships: Merlin / his right hand, Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Nobody moves, nobody gets hurt [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2120874
Comments: 19
Kudos: 54
Collections: Merlin Bingo





	Go for It (Nobody moves, nobody gets hurt)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a timestamp for my 2020 ACBB fic "Nobody moves, nobody gets hurt" from Merlin's POV. 
> 
> You can read it as a hot little standalone, or as bonus material. 
> 
> Thanks to my lovely beta Serena, who is always there to hold my hand and squee! I <3 you!!!

Merlin is still buzzing from the conversation with Arthur in the kitchen when he makes his way upstairs the two flights of stairs to his room. His room, which still feels a bit foreign, like it belongs to someone else—Morgana—despite being crammed with Merlin’s keyboards and pedal boxes and technical equipment. The view out the window is different too, and it continues to confuse him. In their old flat in Hackney, he would look directly into a gray wall when he glanced outside the window of his tiny bedroom, a rather depressing but well-known sight. Here, it’s a charmingly cobbled Kensington Mews street with brightly coloured doors and tastefully-arranged flower decorations. He’s still trying to grasp that he’s living in Kensington now, and that Uther Pendragon spent more money on his living room sofas than Merlin’s mother spent on all the furniture in their flat, including the kitchen appliances.

For a moment, he stands indecisively in the middle of his room, feeling the hardwood floor underneath his bare feet, wondering what the hell just happened downstairs. Yes, Merlin’s still a bit out of it because of the pills he swallowed dry earlier in the evening at the club, but he’s pretty sure they aren’t distorting his perception that badly. The fact remains that he just had a moment with Arthur; a moment, in which—he’s pretty sure of it—Arthur had been about to _kiss him_. 

Ever since Arthur verbally attacked him over breakfast, Merlin has been particularly enjoying riling Arthur up by being as obnoxiously insufferable as his usually friendly and forthcoming personality allows. It doesn’t help Arthur’s case that he looks like all the men who get Merlin’s libido really going: tall, broad-shouldered, muscled, classically handsome, with just that hint of imperfection which gives personality. He is to Merlin, in fact, like catnip is to a cat, and he’s also Merlin’s future step-brother. 

When Merlin met Arthur some weeks ago for the first time, he wasn’t prepared to be presented with the human impersonification of his wet dreams, and as much as he wants to feel happy for his mother for marrying her terribly rich and sophisticated boyfriend, he harbours a grudge for putting him into that kind of situation. 

Tonight, though. Tonight has been a revelation. 

Shuddering, Merlin thinks of the tension in the kitchen tonight, of Arthur’s eyes on him, heated and wide, the way his gaze returned to Merlin’s mouth again and again. Merlin’s first and automatic inclination when Arthur stepped into the kitchen in search of food had been to vex him as much as possible, to make him suffer for the cranky homophobia he had displayed a couple of days ago. What better way than to tease him by opening his bare legs wide and taunt him to step between them? Maybe see what Arthur would do, when Merlin licked the ice cream from the spoon suggestively? 

It had worked, but certainly not in the way Merlin had anticipated. 

Instead of lashing out with words or running away, Arthur had gotten flustered and breathless, barely able to meet Merlin’s eyes, his gaze darting from his bare legs to his mouth, before finally putting an end to Merlin’s harassment by stepping forward and slamming Merlin’s hand down on the counter until his spoon clattered away. 

Merlin sucks in a harsh breath at the memory, feeling the lingering arousal spike up again. The way Arthur’s eyes had been blazing, not with anger, but with something just as primal… Releasing a deep breath, Merlin shakes himself and stumbles towards the bathroom door on unsteady legs. It doesn’t help his balance that his dick is pressing hard and insistent against the tight front of his shorts, a throbbing presence pulsing in time with his heartbeat. 

He strips quickly, tossing his clothes in the general direction of the laundry hamper, before stepping inside the shower cubicle, goosebumps breaking out all over his body. His dick is standing up proudly, unconcerned that his ideas about bending Arthur Pendragon over the next flat surface are very, very wrong or that he got some action earlier today in the bathroom stall of the club he and Gwaine had snuck into. 

The memory makes him wince a bit and he suddenly feels even dirtier as he remembers fucking that bloke, one of the students frequenting the place. He can’t remember his name nor his face, both which were apparently not very memorable, only that he was older than Merlin, maybe early twenties, and the sex hadn’t been particularly good and also kind of sordid, just something to get Merlin’s rocks off. Merlin had left quickly after, way too early for a Friday night, but he hadn’t felt particularly like partying anymore, thinking instead of the comfort that could be gained from the tub of ice cream Hunith had bought last week. 

Grimacing, Merlin reaches for the faucet and turns it on, then washes himself down quickly, scrubbing soap into his skin furiously, wanting to get rid of the awful bathroom stall sex. Why he had thought it was a good idea, he doesn’t know now. 

He finishes up and steps outside onto the mat, dripping water onto the tiles until he finds a clean towel and wraps it around his hips. The thought that Arthur is on the other side of the wall in his bedroom, eating his pasta and maybe thinking about what happened in the kitchen, too, hits him all of a sudden and he pauses, looking towards the bathroom door that leads to Arthur’s room. 

For one wild, crazy moment he thinks of barging in there naked and pushing Arthur towards his bed, tumbling him into the sheets and stripping him off his pajamas. He’s not quite sure he wouldn’t get punched for an attempt like that, but there’s also the chance that Arthur would groan and clutch at him and melt underneath him. The thought of Arthur’s skin on his makes him light-headed and blood rushes south again. Arthur would probably be passionate in bed, but obviously reluctant. Inexperienced with men, most likely. Merlin closes his eyes and chews on his lip ring, trembling as he imagines Arthur moaning as Merlin rubs their cocks together. 

When he opens his eyes again, his gaze falls on the laundry hamper, where his scattered clothes hadn’t quite made it. On top of the basket is one of Arthur’s red shirts, and in a split decision, Merlin crosses the room and snatches it up, clutching the fabric in his hands with a tight-knuckled grip. It’s either go to Arthur and do something unforgivable, rash and stupid, or do something to relieve the tension. 

His legs are still shaky when he walks back to his room, dropping onto his bed face-down, the bathroom door on his side still wide open—a reckless omission that thrills him to the bone. For a moment he lies still, listening to the mad beating of his heart and the rush of blood in his ears, enjoying the pressure of the mattress against his trapped cock. Between his fingers, Arthur’s shirt is soft, the fabric heating up from the temperature of his skin. 

With a huff, he twists around and presses Arthur’s balled up shirt against his face, inhaling the lingering scent of Arthur’s soap and aftershave and the musky, arousing smell of his sweat caught between the threads. 

Groaning, Merlin moves the soft fabric down, over his slightly damp chest, the fine hair on his arms and legs prickling at the cottony, warm touch. All his nerves seem to fire up at once, and he bites down on his lip, moaning, a low, guttural sound that echoes loud and deliciously dirty in his still room. He doesn’t care if Arthur hears him, he actually kind of wants him to pick up on it and come in and do something about the fact that Merlin is lying on his bed nearly naked, rubbing his dirty shirt all over his face and body. 

He moves the fabric further down, over his suddenly sensitive nipples, towards the place where the rise of his ribs drops down to the flat plane of his belly. His other hand follows the path, makes short work of the towel still slung around his hips, before he grabs himself hard, squeezing with his fingers and pulling his foreskin back. The touch feels too good, amazing even, and he starts a slow, languid rhythm, trailing the shirt down to slide against the base of his cock, before moving it back up, Arthur’s scent hitting him when he brings it back to his nose, accompanied by the memory of Arthur standing in front of him half-naked on the day Merlin moved in. 

Arthur had been sweaty that day, fresh from a workout in his room, and his damp skin had been flushed with exertion. The sight of him standing in the open bathroom door had been like a kick to Merlin’s guts. Merlin conjures up that image now, thinks of tackling Arthur against the wall, to nose underneath his jaw and in the crook of his neck, to pull his arms up and nuzzle his face into his armpit, against the downy, dirty blond hair curled there. 

He curses quietly, high on Arthur’s scent and the idea of getting more of it. Arthur would smell incredible, Merlin is sure, comforting and spicy in the pit of his arms, musky and sexy at his groin, dark and earthy between the round cheeks of his arse. The thought of getting his mouth on Arthur is heady, and Merlin speeds up the strokes of his hand, while in his mind, the fantasy of burying his face between Arthur’s arse cheeks and tonguing at the secret, hidden part of his body takes over. 

He wants to blow Arthur’s mind, take him somewhere he’s sure Arthur’s never been before, not with another person, not like that, and he wonders about the noises Arthur would make, desperate and hoarse and maybe, just maybe, a little embarrassed. Soon, Merlin needs more than the teasing of his hand and the scent of Arthur filling his nostrils, and he can imagine it so clearly: pushing his cock into the tight, hot opening of Arthur’s body, claiming him like he did that student earlier, only it would feel so much better, so much better, because it’s Arthur, not some nameless, faceless encounter in a club. 

Arthur, whose hair he would grab and whose skin he would mark and who would whimper to the rhythm of Merlin driving into him. Arthur, who would shout his name when he comes. Arthur, who would look so good, sitting astride Merlin’s thighs, riding him, hard. 

The image hits him, ratcheting up his desire, and Merlin brushes the fabric from his face, panting and gasping for air as he thinks of Arthur grinding him into the mattress, snapping his hips and taking his pleasure. Merlin usually isn’t too keen on letting go off his control during sex, but for Arthur, he would, he so would. 

He comes with a cry to the fantasy of Arthur looking down at him with bitten lips and his face twisted with pleasure, and he shoots all over his stomach and as far up as his chest, where he coats the discarded, balled up shirt. He strokes himself slowly through the rest of his orgasm until the touch becomes too much, before letting go off his sensitive cock. 

He’s tired and spent, but his heart is racing, and he’s suddenly not sure anymore that he wants Arthur to know what he got up to. 

He glances towards the open bathroom door, relieved to see nobody is standing in the doorway and that the light in the bathroom is still off. On a heavy exhale, he shifts and uses Arthur’s t-shirt, soiled with his spunk, to wipe himself off, before tossing it carelessly to the floor. It has fulfilled its purpose and can now be discarded. 

As his breathing gentles slowly, Merlin pulls the duvet over him and curls up onto his side, turning to face the wall, the wall that separates Arthur’s bed from his. The layout in their rooms is similar as they are cut almost the same, except that Merlin’s has direct rooftop access. It’s thrilling knowing Arthur is right there, sleeps right there, separated merely by a wall, not even an arm’s length away.

Guilt sets in shortly, and he blushes and buries his face in his arms, feeling sordid and dirty for letting his fantasies get away with him, for misappropriating Arthur’s shirt and leaving it in a soiled heap at the side of his bed. 

A million thoughts fill his mind, jumbled and confused. He has no idea what it is about Arthur that’s so irresistible. It scares him, because he has bad impulse control on a good day, but Arthur just taxes his restraint and his common sense. 

He should not be lusting after his soon-to-be step-brother. He shouldn’t think that his laugh, with his head tossed back and showing slightly crooked teeth, is the most wonderful thing he has ever seen or heard. Or that whenever Arthur gets snappishly angry or quietly commanding, he wants to blindly follow whatever order Arthur might dish out. And he certainly shouldn’t look forward to their next confrontation, to the moment where Arthur’s attention is solely on him and Merlin feels like the most important person in the universe.

Then again, maybe if they did it once Merlin would find out that Arthur is just a bloke like all the others, and his fascination would fade into nothing. Maybe then they really could be brothers in the future.

Merlin pulls his knees up, puts his hands between his thighs, and closes his eyes.

It’s not like he’s going to do something stupid, he muses, like fall in love with Arthur. Merlin doesn’t fall in love; he’s pretty sure he can control himself to not develop pesky feelings. After all, he hasn’t had any trouble for a long while. It’s not like he’s fifteen anymore, fifteen and moony-eyed and hero-worshipping undeserving dickheads just because they play awesome music. 

Just as he drifts off to sleep, in that half-state between waking and sleeping, he wishes for Arthur to be here, with him, in this bed, curled up against his back, breathing quietly into his neck, his warm, comforting scent all around him.

**Author's Note:**

> Next:
> 
> If you liked this, start with Chapter 1 of [Nobody moves, nobody gets hurt](https://archiveofourown.org/series/2120874)
> 
> or 
> 
> if you took a detour from the original fic, continue reading [Chapter 3 of Nobody moves, nobody gets hurt](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26030971/chapters/63373651).


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